When we finally descended the stairs in search of PB&J and evening activities we had been lounging around since 10am, having only interrupted our reclining to go downstairs to make omelettes for breakfast followed by a short engagement with Classic NES. As we each finished our third half-sandwich our eyes locked across the table, neither of us blinking or moving an inch.


“So, Elise, some more Nintendo?”


“Well, Peter, i might be convinced to thoroughly whup you at Super Mario Bros. 3.”


“If by severely whup you mean ‘attempt to take advantage of a poor only child who never had friends to test his vicious head-to-head Mario Bros. skills against each and every day after school’ but – eventually – ‘fail in the face of he who is brave at heart and fleet of thumb’ … then, yeah, i’m up for a game or two.”

” … Boys are such dorks.”

Suffice to say that what was “a game or two” at 6pm somewhere around 10pm turned into “i’m going to go home for a change of clothes so that i can come back to beat the Piranha Plant World that you claim to hate so much.”

And then, of course, came 1am, when it was something to the effect of “See, if you time your jump to match exactly with the beginning of his parabolic arc you very nearly stand a chance of landing on his back and then boost-jumping onto the musical note box (which, lamentably, possesses no musical qualities whatsoever), which will bring us one level closer to ending the evil reign of the despotic ruler that is Bowser.”

Right. Not to mention 2:15am, which went a little something like “OH MY GOD, HE’S COMING THIS WAY! DEAR SWEET LORD PRESS THE FUCKING JUMP BUTTON OHGODOHGODOHGOD.”

Suffice it to say, i had my ass thoroughly whupped, and i got to beat Mario Bros. 3 level for level without a single warp flute nearly a decade and a half after it’s release. Oh, and, had an amazing day just sitting around in my gym shorts with Elise.

Perfect. Just… perfect.